The Kids Will Never Be Alright
by lydiamartins
Summary: "You're out of your depth," Alicia begins, hands on hips as she advances, "—so for the first time, I'm not just the pretty sidekick, and you can't deal with that, can you?"/ Everything was in place. Everything was the way it was supposed to be. Then, Massie returns; after all, on the Upper East Side, nothing remains perfect. / AU / multi-chap /
1. prologue

**a/n: **Just thought that I needed to reformat everything, since all of the formatting seemed to change between chapters. If you're reading this, you're probably disappointed since you expected an update, but I promise that after**six**reviews, I'll update a new chapter. Do you like the length of this chapter, or maybe a shorter/longer length? All crit.'s welcome. Care to guess who the last snippet's characters are?

**disclaimer: **I don't own anything. Anything that you recognize —_probably _not mine.

**-the kids will never be alright-****  
****i. before the storm**

At one point or another, every stinking ape dies, yet the goddesses and gods elevate themselves into a higher realm —Claire Lyons likes to think of herself as one of those higher individuals.

Claire Lyons wasn't sure if a person could die of boredom, but if that was a possible death scenario on the list of a pathologist's diagonisis's (strange as they could be), this would be the case. Freshman orientation at Briarwood Academy. The rather strange teenage residents of Westchester County could only get more bored and have their egos inflate even more when another year at Briarwood High began again. Time could only wait until Claire Lyons and her not-so-much-boy-girl clique of best friends and boyfriend came back to the halls of the prestigious academy.

Freshman orientation was a dreaded event for those few hundred or so individuals who were accepted into the class of 2018. It was only dreaded due to the whole transition shebang from a world where one B+ wouldn't matter to a place where a single A- could ruin a future, from where buying the latest Christian Louboutin was a choice to become popular, to where popularity was everything. The eighth grade alphas and their cliques (if they had them), would be tested on this auspicious day. They would be tested by none other than Claire Lyons, the alpha of the senior class of the academy.

With her serene blue eyes, underneath the radiant rays of sunshine that blew her wavy blonde hair into a windswept style, and bounced delicately on her pretty collarbones, Claire Lyons was what people might call the academy's "It" girl —there was more to her, however. Nonetheless, she stood strong and tall as her three best friends surrounded her, almost as if her posse, were her overprotective bodyguards; in a way, if they were, except bodyguards weren't total bitches and her friends were.

"I can't believe you guys don't understand how much of a blow-off year this is," Alicia announced, crinkling her eyes in distaste as she enunciated the last few words, wringing her hands slightly, almost as if she was worried._Same old Leesh._

"—Leesh, be nice. They're only freshmen after all. You don't have to pick on them; after all, remember those kids who pushed us down when we were freshmen? It was pretty brutal, and I think that just because we're the upperclassmen now, it means that we can maybe stray from the tradition of throwing tomatoes in their hair, rejecting them from all the varsity sports teams, and bribing the teachers of whiz kids to fail their students?" Dylan even knew she wasn't very convincing, and instead looked down, biting her recently manicured fingernails until Claire slapped Dylan's hand, and she only sighed.

Within a few moments, the boys had arrived. Over the past few years, none of them had really changed, and if they had, the changes were so small that the alpha couple, Claire and Derrick, wouldn't be able to point out the flaws and pick at them until they were able to disappear. The individual girls and boys dispersed, as Kristen started chasing her boyfriend across the lawn, ignoring the looks of envy she was getting from all the single girls and guys that she was too oblivious to notice. The upperclassmen boys were already decked out in all their soccer, football, and rugby gear as they headed inside the gym at the west side of the mansion-like-academy, and a few eager-to-impress freshmen boys greeted Chris, the linebacker. Team rosters wouldn't be posted until the next day, though a herd of eager students stood around the gym. In the far distance, cheerleading tryouts were occurring, where accepted girls were reveling in their supercilious glory as boys exchanged looks with their friends, punching themselves as one of the out of their league girls walked by.

Some of these people were examined closely by the Soul M8's —their name had been one of the few things to stick. Others, were cast aside, as though they were no more important than a polo that was two seasons old, or worse, a week_too _avant garde. There were a few individuals that Claire herself had picked out the week previously, because after all, it was the last year that they would be reigning queens and kings, and the assembled court below themselves, peasants, nothing more were her adoring public, and there had to be somebody to replace them, right? So, she had to continue watching, and waiting and forget about some of them.

Some, however, were remembered.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**claire [4:13]**: so, derrick...homecoming's coming up soon. is there anything you want to ask me?  
**derrick [4:14]**: oh, yeah! i forgot to mention something  
**claire [4:14]**: what color tie are you wearing? i'll e-mail beca for suitable matching colors  
**derrick [4:15]**: what are you talking about claire? i'm not going to homecoming, especially not with you  
**claire [4:16]**: why not? do you have another girl? ohmigod are you going with that slut olivia, or even worse, that freaky loser layne?  
**claire [4:16]**: here, do you need me to give you some space? i'll give you some space to make your final decision  
**claire [4:17]**: i gave you a minute. i want your decision. now.

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Ahem? God, peasants, listen to your queen." Claire was trying, unsuccessfully to gather the attention of the crowd in front of her. The juniors reveling in their almost-senior glory, even though she knew quite well that they had a long year ahead of themselves, seemed and acted as though they were all that, though with their cotton shorts and plastic looking noses, she knew that they had a long way to go before senior year. The seniors, on the other hand, had never looked better. Claire wasn't sure what that would foretell this year, and pinched the bridge of her nose, remembering that this was her year to shine, and that nobody could ever stop her from achieving perfection. Of, course. There was no reason to even think to question herself, to freak about Derrick not going to homecoming with her, for Derrick to go to homecoming ... with someone_else._

_But with who?_

**.**

**.**

**.**

There was a time when the dawn would not arise for infinity, and the clouds still covered the stars shining, shining oh so bright in the distance, far away from the posh neighborhood time, Claire rose from her cushioned mattress, resisting the normal urge to call out for Inez. Instead, this mission would have to be accomplished by herself, and only with herself and her messed-up thoughts would be left behind upon the pillow. Light flooded across the spacious chamber, and she couldn't help but feel a shiver run down her bare spine.

Claire made an attempt to smooth her crinkled hair, which, in the wee hours of the morning, seemed as though she had purposely taken a helium balloon and rubbed it upon her hair as if she was some sort of freaky science nerd in CERN —a place, where her mother had taken her for_three frickin' months _in the previous summer, for a private internship, only achievable if one was some sort of whiz kid or had a certain last name; Claire liked to pretend it was the former. Thirty minutes later, her hair was curled to glossy perfection as she raked a hand through her blonde tresses, and she carefully placed a sterling silver headband over. The careful placement of the newest messenger bag from the Louboutin line fitted all of her supplies, including the newest Vogue edition, featuring herself on the cover; she stepped outside, the breeze nipping at her bare neck.

Things were going to change. They had to change, Claire reaffirmed. Within thirteen minutes, a short limousine ride, Claire had met up with the rest of her posse underneath the Fountain, their reserved meeting place in the morning, ignoring Kristen's remarks about how late they were going to be for class, and how bad a tardy would look on an Ivy League application, Alicia's remarks about_what about ratings?_, and Dylan's sly as ever,_Massie would have done this better. _Nonetheless, they had a show to put on, and they would put on the best damn show.

And just like that, senior year had begun.

"Have you ever wondered what's wrong with_us_?" Dylan's malachite eyes scanned the grand hall, observing the arrival of flushed girls and cheeky boys, wondering how on earth this was high school. They were fifteen year olds, for Coco Chanel's sake, not_college students._Why did they have to be worrying about boys?

**.**

**.**

**.**

The four of them meet up at the reserved lunch table, as if everything in their lives was perfect, and fine; like it would ever be. Alicia was the only one left standing when the rest of the posse has seated themselves, as she quickly elbowed an already yogurt-consuming Dylan into her proper gamma seat, as her ruby red lips maliciously curved into a smirk. Alicia Riviera was more than just one of those stray gossip girls, who believe that they can model their gossip over a classic television show and book series. Alicia scoffed at them, and the television show; she took the term "gossip girl" to a whole new level. Her chocolate brown eyes narrowed as she licked her blood-red lips, tossing a purple highlight over her shoulder. It was a token to the Pretty Committee's former alpha, for all of the current Soul M8's members to don; the purple streak also had its perks.

"So," she slid into her seat at table nineteen. "I heard about the news." Claire looked at Alicia, almost as if she was scared, because there was no way that Alicia had ever looked that threatening in her lifetime —then again, the two of them had only met in the seventh grade, and the majority of the time, Alicia had been following Massie's orders to ruin Claire's life.

"May I have your attention, class?" Principal Buckingham began, clearing her throat. Three of the heads in the table snapped to the front, though Alicia only smiled at their reactions, knowing about everything that the principal would be announcing in a few moments; after all, Alicia knew everything, and maybe, just maybe, that knowledge could take her somewhere, hopefully out of the queen's reign. "As you all know, the National Academy of Dance has been closed down, due to lack of funding and proper students. Therefore, I bring it to your notice that starting tomorrow, Briarwood High will be reformed into The National Academy of Dance!" The principal said this with delight, as if all the students would be enthralled about this piece of news, though most were looking nervous, biting on their nails or sipping Diet Cokes with fervor. "Applications will begin at three o'clock, after school has ended, and will end tomorrow morning at six-thirty, for you early risers, out there."

Alicia spent the rest of the day, thinking, and only thinking about nothing else than what her life had been meant for-_dance._

Her thin, worn clothes clung to her body, the summer heat and endless amounts of unnecessary sweat only adding to the trepidation of not being selected; all of those were the reasons why her stress levels were out of the roof. She could afford all of the best training equipment, but for some reason, she couldn't be able to buy —_cough, _bribe— her way into the academy; if only it was possible. However, if it was, Alicia was ready to be on her knees, begging and begging; it had been her lifelong goal to be a ballerina. Alicia could feel herself having a panic attack, and wondered if a person could die from excessive stress.

"The results have been posted. Good luck to all participants in the auditions," the calm voice over the loudspeaker suddenly sounded. That woman, whoever she was, didn't know how important those words were, to the group of young girls and boys assembled, but were ready, at any moment, to run. And they did. Alicia was lost in the stampede of moving bodies, pushed along by the tide. A few minutes later, a smile danced across her face._She was in._

In the mail, a copy of the accepted applicants was sent out to every girl and boy who was accepted into the elite Academy of Dance. Alicia scrolled down the online list of applicants, looking for any familiar names, that night, clenching her fists when she saw some familiar names...and some unfamiliar names, because after all, knowing your competition was one of the only ways to be able to succeed, especially in a national level academy; then again, she wasn't sure how many non-Westchester applicants there would be.

_Claire Lyons._

The wicked witch had returned, she thought to herself grimly. Claire was a suitable friend (if bitches were friends), but all she wanted was to climb her way to the top of the social ladder, no matter who she stamped upon on her way to the top. At the academy, there would be naturals, people who were more flexible. She would just have to work a little harder, train a little longer, and practice until she was perfect. Nothing else mattered. A thought struck her head, since when did_Kuh-laire_start dancing? Alicia made a vow in her head that this year, distractions would not get in the way. No boys, no friendships, no drama. Just dance. That vow ended as soon as she spotted two very familiar names at the end of the list.

_Josh Hotz._

_Massie Block._

Alicia felt the sudden urge to call an ambulance before she could possibly pass out because there was no way that a person could live with this much shock without receiving a heart attack, or some cardiac arrest, no matter of their age.

**TEN INCOMING CALLS-**

Then a pause and two seconds later, -**MASSIE**-.

Alicia pressed her phone to her ear with her shaking manicured hand, inwardly and outwardly trembling at the sound of her previous best friend's voice. "Hey, chica. I'm back."

**.**

**.**

**.**

"There's something wrong with us," Dylan repeated languidly, lounging around on the beach hoping that her pale white skin would develop some sort of tan before sunset, when she would have to retire to the Marvil Mansion. Private school, which would start tomorrow, was a nightmare: the whole new trouble of finding friends who weren't other children of celebrities and being accepted.

It was a recent fear of Dylan's. Post-reformation didn't suit well for the girl whose stress level was normally already too high for a seventeen year old. Her stomach was bloated enough already, concealed by a black one-piece that was supposed to make her look slimmer. She envied the girls on the beach, with their white bikinis, and how they were in such control of themselves. She envied everybody. "_Why_?" A cute looking boy approached her.

"Why, what?" she replied, tilting her sunglasses up from her head. He was even cuter in the sunlight.

"Why are you envious of everybody?"

It was a question that Dylan didn't really have an answer to. "I don't know." That was her standard response to her family, strangers, people she didn't really care about knowing. "I really don't know." And her ignorance wasn't blissful. It was frightening.

She liked to think that it started with the logs.

There were these logs that she had been keeping ever since that crazy party (even in terms of Westchester-crazy, if that was mentally possible to think of) where she had "accidentally" resorted to old remedies: a.k.a. the toilet. It wasn't her fault, if Dylan really thought about it; she saw all the other girls in their uber-small bikinis and looked at her fat stomach in that ugly puke-color -that was_supposed_to bring out her eyes-, and that's when it started.

Those enviable pangs in her stomach that just could never be satisfied.

Running through the crowd, ignoring the shouts, and "what's wrong"s from the elusive strangers of the Upper East Side, Dylan panted, falling to her knees in the first available stall. She only hesitated for a moment, before inserting her finger...when it's all over, she doesn't feel the slightest built guilty. Sure, it looks disgusting, but her face is refreshed, glowing almost, as if she's the typical progeny of a successful, beautiful couple, not a blob of over-tanned fat and hair.

"Hey, Dylan! What'ya do in there? You look great," Yvette, one of her acquaintances, commented, looking at Dylan like she was an actual person; it really felt good to be appreciated, especially by a model-to-be.

Dylan should have been overjoyed (after all, daughters of tycoons didn't normally give compliments to her), at the statement, but instead just muttered, "Nothing, really," and excused herself from the party. Her mother's dead. It's all over the news, publicized everywhere from her new school's latest gossip column to the_New York Times _to_Forbes Magazine _to the screensaver of her brand-new cell phone; Dylan likes to keep the picture there, as a reminder about how she has to live up to her mother, her dead mother's, expectations. After all, wasn't that the only way to attain, if it was even possible, perfection?

At lunch, she's caught stealing cookies from the cafeteria.

Called down to the principal's office at eighth hour, Dylan didn't feel the slightest bit guilty, but instead confused; what's happened to her? The principal brushed the crime off, considering the action to be forced upon her, perhaps a dare from one of her stuck-up, obnoxious friends, and considered Dylan's punishment to not be a detention, but instead working at the cafeteria before and after school for two days.

_It's not that bad, _Dylan thought to herself.

Personally, she thought that the principal should have suspended, maybe expelled her from the school until "she put her act back together", or maybe even send her to a guidance counselor. All Dylan wants to do is ask for help, tell her dirty big secret to somebody, anybody, but there's nowhere to go; she's lost in this world full of great expectations and unfulfilled promises.

She went to the cafeteria every morning, and every afternoon.

The first day, when she went, she heard a delicate_plink-plink-plink _from the orchestral room, and peeped through the eyehole, spotting a red-haired, lanky boy, who seemed to be concentrated on the black and white keys, like they were the only thing that would ever matter to him. At school, she asked Cosette who the boy is; Cosette replied with a scoff, saying that he's only at the school on _scholarship. _The world sounded repulsive from her mouth, and for a moment, Dylan realized that nothing's really that different between Octavian Country Day and this new school; all that's changed is the names and the faces.

Approaching him one day was probably one of Dylan's major mistakes.

From the moment that they met, he noticed that something was off about her; sure, Todd was a cool guy and everything, even though he was on scholarship and insisted on wearing a traditional kilt and Christmas themed sweater to school, but sometimes, he looksed at her. It's not the kind of look that she would give to a potential crush, but more of a concerned look; it's like the look that normal mothers are supposed to give to their normal children.

Nothing's normal about Westchester.

Dylan just wished that Massie was back; Massie was the kind of friend that could make her feel better in an instant, just by saying a few right words, and lending her something from her new DSL line, or maybe taking her on a girls' night out. Her phone rang during science class, and Dylan recognized the number, making a mistake, by accidentally turning on the volume. "It's my dad," she mouthed to her professor, whose eyes widen, and quickly ushers her out of the hall, before she can make a disruption of the class.

"Hello?" she says, tentatively, her squeaky voice echoing on the other end.

There's a moment of silence, and Dylan says, hello again, wondering if this was a wrong number, or a drunk-dialed call, but it just can't be. "Hey, Dyl? It's me, Massie. I'm back." The two of them spend the afternoon in Dylan's room.

Trying on new outfits that were specially made in London, especially those beautiful silk kimonos that Kendra had got while on a business trip to Japan with William, that go so well with Dylan's bright green eyes. Whether Dylan knew it or not (well, of course she knew it; but, she just wouldn't admit it), she had missed her best friend.

"Massie?" she asked, absentmindedly, straightening one of her already pin-straight red tresses.

There was no reply for a moment, until Massie poked her head out of the closet that Dylan swears she could got lost in, "Yeah? I know you're thinking about Claire and the new Soul M8's—" Massie wrinkled her nose at this, "—but I have a plan," her ruby red lips curled maliciously into a smirk. Dylan almost felt bad for Claire, because_everybody _knew that there was nothing Massie Block did better than revenge.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Claire was pacing back and forth, outwardly enraged, because appearances were everything, especially if she was going to maintain these posse of power, at the committee for reforming Briarwood into the National Academy of Dance, inwardly pleased that she had been accepted. After all, she had started doing ballet around the same time as she started violin. It wasn't Claire's fault that she was good at everything. "Don't hate me," she innocently said, shrugging her shoulders. "It's not my fault that some of them didn't get in."

Derrick spoke up first, "It's okay, guys. Some international kids are coming in from around the world."

"Isn't this the National Academy of Dance, though?" one of the new girls interjected. "Not the International Academy of Dance." Claire's eyes flickered with hope. They were still trying to decide how to replace the other members of the Soul M8's, such as Kristen and Chris, who hadn't been accepted and were currently somewhere in the snowy hills of Switzerland. _Sayonara, losers. _Therefore, they were testing some other A-listers who were accepted into the academy. "Because if those exchange kids came it, gosh, that would be, like, guh-ross!"

Claire's eyebrows narrowed. "You're out." Seriously? Who talked like that anymore? It wasn't like they were in seventh grade. No, they were in their first year. For a moment, she had forgotten that everything had changed. "Well?" Claire snapped. Alicia was running towards the Fountain in the middle of the parched lawn, as if she had never run in her life.

Alicia was out of breath by the time she reached what was left of the Soul M8's; after all, it was the second time she had run in her life. "Massie's back," she breathed, before collapsing on the ground.

::

**Hey Westchester boys and girls:**

Looks like there's a new sheriff in town with our favorite private school being converted into a dance academy:** The National Academy of Dance. Previous **resident and ballet bunhead** S**will be a student there, returning back from**Alpha**, better than ever. Let's meet the other competition.

**A**'s number one at** BADS **ever since**S**has left** Westchester**, and**resident gossip girl.**Looks like both of those titles are going to change, especially when** M **has returned from** London, **for better or for worse. Looks like** little miss queen bee C **has somehow managed to snatch** hottest single boy D, **hours after his breakup with** M. **Her life won't stay perfect forever.

Be careful walking down the primrose path. You may find hell instead of happily ever after.

**xoxo,**  
**Gossip Girl**

.

.

.

Skye had twenty minutes from looking like a frizzy bed-head type of pathetic wannabe to convert herself into the epitome of perfection without the help of her trusted hair professional Jakkob, one of the workers that she had stole from underclassmen alpha Massie Block. She sighed, wondering how long she could possibly stay on top without caring too much about being the best.

"But everybody cares about being the best," she murmured to herself, a daily mantra that Skye had devised. Then again, she couldn't be normal -being average was not an option if she ever wanted to attain perfection.

Wasn't that what everybody wanted to be? Perfect? When Skye was younger, all she wished to do was be a ballerina, swirling around the stage with a tutu, and was immediately whisked away to ballet lessons, much to the refusal of her best friends, Nina Callas and Danny Robbins, who insisted that she miss Saturday lessons to play ball with them. Skye had just rolled her eyes and her childish friends, meanwhile, watching whatever was left of her childhood at the age of nine, slip out of her thin, lithe hands.

She wondered how bad her life would turn out this morning, and walked out the door, as a scream comes across the sky.

**.**

**.**

**.**

In hindsight, surveying the several Louis Vuitton suitcases that were strangely empty, wasn't the best option that Claire Lyons had decided upon. Upon packing for the National Academy of Dance, Claire had been notified that she would only be allowed nineteen suitcases. She wasn't actually sure how she was to convert her entire room (sans bed and bedside table), along with her multiple walk-in closets into a mere number of suitcases. Instead, Claire had decided to take what was important to her. "Harvey!" she screamed.

"Yes, Miss Lyons," a butler walked into the room, carrying a glass platter. On the platter was a packet of biscuits, and a glass of warm tea; Claire motioned for her butler to place the platter on the bedside table, and let him leave the room. Plopping down onto the bed, Claire wondered about her options. Of course, she would be the best wherever she went; didn't mean Claire couldn't have some fun.

She would have to bring several dance uniforms, ballet shoes, pointe shoes, yoga and pilates materials, running shoes, workout uniforms, normal clothes, headbands, lace sashes, ribbons, dance trophies (in order to intimidate all possible future roommates), eyeliner, shampoo, leave-in conditioner, deep conditioner, coconut oil, cocoa butter, earrings, necklaces, jewelry, toothbrush, toothpaste, sleeping robes, bathrobes, slippers, high heels, flats, and the like.

The list really could go on forever. Three hours later, Claire had organized everything that she would need into nineteen suitcases, which looked as though they were about to burst. She was finally sitting on the last one, right next to the window, when she saw a purple limo drive onto the freshly cemented driveway, and suitcase burst.

**Hey Westchester Boys and Girls,**

Make sure that you rise and shine early, today; after all, it is the first day of school for some of you lucky individuals. Then again, I'm coming with you, so maybe you're not so lucky. It's come to the matter that everybody should start school with a clean slate, so this is me, Gossip Girl, spilling all of your secrets. If you've got any problem with that, talk to**C. **She can tell you, everything.

As you all very well know, New Year's Eve is a time for making memories, and New Year's Resolutions. After**S **spent the night with**C**'s boyfriend**D, **I'm sure they made some wonderful memories. And what about**M **and**D? **That's right, everyone. The Upper East Side's ex-golden couple have been spotted together, on a Manhattan street, outside of the**Academy. **Hugging; nonetheless, it looks like**C **and**J **will have something to say about this. Of course, this isn't a secret; you must have heard about what happened to**Miss Marvil.**

Some of you will be dismissed, and others will never be forgotten.

You know you love me,

**xoxo,**  
**Gossip Girl**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"..._I come home in the morning light,_" Massie lightly hums the lyrics to Girls Just Want to Have Fun, sitting down on of the city's park benches, waiting for the supposedly reliable transportation network to send an emergency police vehicle over.

She had already tried called James.

Twice. The call had gone straight through to voice-mail (there was no reason for that to happen on a Monday). Already, Massie misses London, and the castles that her parents had specially bought for her. They had said that she would live there when she grew older, but then again, things had never gone to plan with the Block family; tears stain her cheeks. Remembering is sometimes harder than forgetting.

Massie wants to remember everything; she wants to remember every single moment that she spent back at Westchester, but for some reason, going to London, living there, had changed her perspective on life. Not really, but Massie liked to think of it that way. Something had changed though; perhaps she was still that young, immature girl that she used to be, but something changed. "The National Academy of Dance," she murmured, climbing onto the bus, passing over a hundred-dollar bill.

Reaching the Academy, and after grabbing her Louis Vuitton roller suitcases from her room, Massie ran down to the studio, without bothering to figure out who would be her roommate (those trivial facts didn't really matter). First, making sure that nobody else was watching, Massie forgot to close the blinds, and twirled around in excitement. Everything here was so _perfect._

Her mother had told her not to have too high expectations, but even the reaching past the stars expectations that Massie had acquired from memorizing the brochure and website, weren't too high for this place. Even the studio was gorgeous; all the state-of-the-art dance training equipment was here; walking over to the corner of the room, Massie turned on a classical tune. Even though everything was perfect, she couldn't get herself to focus. Sure, it was nice, to have everything so clean and neat, but Massie danced best, naturally (at least that's what she had been told).

Finally, something snapped. Her focus got in line, and was magical for a moment; it was though she could see right through everything, the drama and problems of ordinary life, and commit herself to something: this song. For a moment, nothing else mattered. Massie could picture herself, barefoot, in the middle of wheat paddock, eyes closed (but there, everything was safe). The song ended, soon enough; strangely enough, she could hear clapping.

"What are_you _doing here?" Of course, it had to be Derrick; he wasn't even clapping. Just putting his hands together, really slowly, in almost a mocking tone (can claps have tones?). Massie's eyes narrowed, as she marched towards the door (much to Derrick's protests) and slammed the door, closed, standing behind it, crossing her arms, and kicking it shut with her right leg. Stupid guys.

**.**

**.**

**.**

"I still don't manage to understand how you got me in here," Meena murmured, looking up at Claire in reverence. In reply, the queen bee only smirked. "I have my ways." Flipping her hair behind one shoulder, Claire secretly knew that the only reason why she had invited LBR Meena into the National Academy of Dance. Her so-called "friends" didn't even like her anymore: they just stuck around for the popularity factor. So, Claire knew that friends wouldn't help.

However, a couple of losers wouldn't be that bad. Claire knew that Massie would be coming back; there were already sightings, pictures, and reports, of the alpha who looked even more sure of herself this time around. An encounter with her former alpha and best friend would have to be planned carefully for hours: the outfit, what retorts she would say, where they would meet, what they would discuss. Nothing could be a surprise. Surprises made everything less perfect, and there was nothing Claire wanted to be but in control. In control of everyone and everything was the only way that she could ensure that she was in control of herself. Of course, Meena and Heather and Allie-Rose Singer were still staring at their new alpha, who disregarded them as though they were last season's Louboutins.

The four of them were standing outside the Academy, embracing the summer sunshine while it lasted. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see something that just couldn't be happening; the shocked gasps of her new "clique" confirmed the truth, and the latest blast of news from Gossip Girl. M and D. Her boyfriend, her current boyfriend; sure, Claire was a bitch, and she probably always would be, but she didn't think that she was that bad that she would drive away Derrick.

She actually loved him. They were the perfect couple, Westchester's Golden Couple. "It's okay guys," Claire scoffed. "They're just friends. Anyway," she continues, putting her phone back in her Hermes Messenger Bag. "Massie has James." Who was James, though? Before all the dramatics had begun, Claire had heard a few mentions from Massie on Skype about her newest homecoming date, her new flavour of boy candy, but this one...seemed different; in a way, Claire was almost jealous that Massie had found somebody that loved her.

Claire wasn't exactly the gossip girl or social butterfly of the National Academy of Dance, but for the past three days, she had made it her point to know every single possible enemy, and all of their strengths and weaknesses; she had been studying them like a pre-teen nerd would study Pokemon cards. And, there was no information about James. Other than the fact that he was Massie's.

Flipping a few strands of golden-brown hair behind her slim shoulder, a malicious smirk began to form on her ruby red lips as she pursed them together, knowing that within fifteen hours, she would have a new boyfriend. Game on, Massie.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Skye didn't care about being the best.

Contrary to popular belief, she actually didn't care; she was just good at dance, but Skye had a life outside of dance. However, apparently, Skye's godmother, who was the headmistress of the National Academy of Dance was adamant on recruiting Skye back to the field of ballet, at least in that school. She had previously been trained at the Royal School of Ballet.

In London —which made it all the more advanced.

Raising an eccentric pair of purple sunglasses over her glazed-over electric blue eyes, Skye placed a pair of Powerpuff Girl headphones into both of her ears, blocking out the noise of Westchester, and Miss Crimbleton, especially, who seemed furious at the gesture, pulling the headphones out of Skye's ears, an adamant expression on her shrewd face.

"Skye Ingrid Hamilton. When will you ever learn to be perfect? You have_so _much talent —much more than the girls at tryouts." Skye rolled her eyes; of course she had more talent than these amateurs._Tell me something I don't know,_she thought to herself. "If you're never going to use this talent, where are you going to end up when you grow up?"

Skye glanced out the window, bored. Miss Crimbleton, in response, sighed heavily, and grabbed Skye by the arm, and dragged her down the crowded hallway of the Academy's dormitory; there was a boy and girl kissing as though their lives depended on it in one of the studios: Miss Crimbleton quickly pulled them apart, handing both of them some sort of "pink slip". There were a boy and girl who were feeding each other Hershey Kisses. Grimacing, Skye moved on. The two of them were just so freaking adorable that it hurt her to look at them.

Seriously? Did they have to show off in front of everybody's face that they had found their own soulmates, while the majority of the teenagers were going to end up forever alone? No. The least that they could to was being polite. Suddenly, Skye stopped in front of a dorm. The door was halfway open.

Inside, was a blonde girl with a light tan, her eyes light blue in the light shining from the open window, fresh air blowing in with a slight breeze, and a few papers across the room shifting slightly. There was also a boy, the boy that had pulled a one night-stand with her back in the ninth grade, never looking back from the incident as if he was some sort of player. Shit. Derrick Harrington was in_this _Academy.

This wasn't going to end well.

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.

Somewhere else, a tantalizing voice spoke as two people laid together upon the sanded deck of Westchester's private country club, doing anything what they were meant to do as they splashed water upon each other, at least until the boy looked at her seriously, before their lips could meet. "Wait," he began, not wanting for this to be rushed. "I..I don't want this to just be —just be a_school fling, _y'know?"

The girl smiles, because he's just so plain adorable. Grinning widely, then toning down on the sunshine beams, she murmured, "Then, don't let it be." Their lips met.


	2. i

**a/n: **Yes, you're probably going to hate me in this chapter and many future chapters. I don't exactly ship Massie and Chris, but I have to warn you that they will be together sometime later in this story —_probably _later, however; there will also be Massie/James, Massie/Derrick, Claire/Derrick, Claire/James, and Alicia/Cam. I'll try to update as soon as possible; With the help of **ten reviews, **I promise to update by or before July 17th, 2013. The next chapter will be a continuation of the first day of the Academy, the continuation of Claire and Derrick's troubles, maybe a breakup, and finally, then continue with Alicia's background, :)

Should the chapters be longer or shorter? Whose your favorite character —who do you hate the _most_?

**clara**

* * *

Chapter One: First Impressions

_I've always been a character actor, although I'm not quite sure what that means. All my scripts are absolutely covered in notes, so any time I say anything — even 'pass the salt' — I have six subtexts, comments on what I really mean when I'm saying that. Maybe that's what gives the impression that I'm saying one thing and thinking something else, which is obviously, the truth at all given times —always, and forever._

**— christopher walken ; **film director

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**Hey Upper East Siders,**

As all of you Upper East Side students know, today is the first day of the National Academy of Dance. Why does that matter, though? Well if you're so stupid and naive that you don't know, all the gossip will be there, from whether **M **and **D **are going to hook up again, to whether **C **will succesfully steal **J **from **M, **to who will come out of the first day alive.

You know that I'll have all of the gossip, waiting for you.

**SPOTTED: A **sneaking out of her room before the first day of school, coming late to class with **C **by her side. Are the two devils of the Upper East Side finally pairing up for some revenge? We can't wait until all the scandalous secrets and plots come out, because after all, you know that they always will. Looks like **D **and **C **have broken up, and the never faithful **D **has returned to Princess **M. **Let's not say the same for Queen **C **who's lost her crown. **M **on the other hand isn't doing so well; seems as though the princess has lost her throne. Instead, **A** has replaced her, the rightful queen of dance, at least for now.

**.**

"We're not your clique anymore, Claire, we're your claque: a group of people hired to applaud a performer or performance," Dylan defines. _Look who's the smart one, now, _Claire thinks; soon after, Dylan and Alicia leave.

Claire ends up back in her bedroom, sighing as she paints a picture of what used to be so perfect. It doesn't seem like it's worth it, Claire thinks to herself, as she tries to extend one leg over her head and ends up pulling a muscle. Perhaps changing herself, and her complete attitude really would be for the best. Dancing, even the process of acceptance into the academy was enough to let Claire know that life past the first day would be nothing other than a melee; she and those around her —she silently cried, remembering that she was alone once more— would only end up getting hurt, even if they were harmless innocents.

She starts weighing the benefits and disadvantages of changing herself. Within a few hours of television watching and magazine flipping, Claire had finally come to a somewhat rational decision —she would become a careless, fun, & flirty blonde, because that was the only she would be able to enjoy (maybe) the rest of her teenage years. It was a fact that she was already flirty, but maybe getting a new boyfriend since that's always something that has to be recycled regularly, according to_Seventeen_, and eventually her kindness's verisimilitude would win praise from Westchester.

_Eventually._

**.**

Miss Crimbleton advances through the rows, gliding as she marks notes down on her clipboard, sighing and smiling as she constantly switches the colors of the pens used, a fact that does not go unnoticed by Alicia —the teacher approaches her near the end of an extension, and she makes sure to extend her leg higher than the other students of the class. Miss Crimbleton smiles, murmuring a _Good,_ _Alicia, _as she moves down the row, a frown of wrinkles immediately forming on her forehead.

"Massilyn, I am not sure which school you have learned ballet from, but it does not mean that you must do this inconvenient gestures that are completely unnecessary," she criticizes. With a rough shove, Massie's leg is pushed lower, almost gliding upon the ground, and for the first time, Massie knows that she's out of her depth.

The warm-ups are soon over, and Miss Crimbleton begins an interactive discussion on how to become a better ballet student, all the while criticizing Massie, leaving her as the example of what not to be, and Alicia of the example of what a professional dancer, at least a first-year, should achieve to be. Massie skims the room, eager to observe if she knows anybody else in the class, only observing the existence of Alicia, perhaps the teacher's newest pet, at least for the time, and a few males, who soon left the room, with another one of the teachers, probably to work on flexibility and strength while the girls would focus on techniques..._en pointe._

As Miss Crimbleton dismissed the female students to retrieve their pointe shoes, she called Massie over. "Massie, darling, I just don't think that you're ready for work en pointe." The teacher took the pointe shoes from Massie's hands, and started to walk away. "I'll give them back to you when I know that you are ready for pointe work."

Massie couldn't do anything but release an audible sigh of disappointment —everybody here was treating her as though she was some sort of country bumpkin, compromising their training with her lack of knowledge; it wasn't her fault that she wasn't perfect at everything that she did.

"You're out of your depth," Alicia begins, hands on her hips as she advances towards one of her previously best friends, "—and for the first time, I'm not just the pretty sidekick, and you can't deal with that, can you?" Massie doesn't even take a moment to step back, and slap her in response, shocked gasps and light giggles coursing throughout the room, a horrified one resulting from the watching teacher, who immediately escorts Massie out of the room; Alicia only smirks in response.

**.**

They spend the rest of the day in trust partner exercises; some students stand excitedly around the two teachers, both displaying stern expressions on their faces that almost curl into frowns, as they explain the instructions. Alicia glimpses the blue ribbons inside of a circular shaped box, a pack of cards falling out of their plastic groceries bags in the desk, wondering how she had ever thought that the so-called elite dance academy would be as easy as _this. _Within minutes, the teachers have assigned partners, moving through the crowds —all she hopes is that she's partnered with anybody but Massie Block, whose worse than Alicia had previously expected her to be, the best in anything.

Instead, she's partnered with Cameron Fisher, a small boy who she faintly remembers from Briarwood and Octavian Country Day, memories of boyfasts, fuschia Yankee hats with the brims facing backwards, and an unexpected return from abroad, and the like, Claire-sprouted tears splayed across carpets and rugs alike. He bounds towards her, a cheery, carefree smile on his childlike features. "So, I guess we're partners!"

"Who are you?" She feigns confusion, moving through the line, trying to approach the teachers in hope of a better partner before recognizing that Massie is the only one without a partner, and any person would be better than that loser. "Never mind. I'll open the paper." She held it, taking deep, long breaths, opening the paper as though it was a life-or-death fortune cookie, and then slightly grimacing.

_Be attached to your partner for 2-4 hours._

Cam looks at her, then, as if he still likes her in a sense, and she can't help but shudder. "C'mon loser, we're going shopping."

Meanwhile, in another section of the room, Massie stands, amber eyes wide open, slightly glazed over as she takes in the scene in front of her —she really should have expected something like this. Being the new girl, the new, inexperienced girl who was recently taken off pointe shoes because of "weak ankles" would result in no friends, at least no in a place as competitive as this. Miss Crimbleton and the male teacher whose name she is still unaware of, directs her towards an empty room, in which she sits, periodically, rummaging through cabinets when nobody is looking, and quickly returning to her seat once she is cognizant of the alarming sounds, footsteps down the hall and familiar voices.

The door opens, a boy in toy, one that she must have seen before, at one time or another. He doesn't even cast a first glance towards Massie, instead continuing to _plearead_ with Miss Crimbleton; Massie almost snorts: obviously this kid's new, because nobody argues with the teacher, especially not someone who's a close relative or a ballet prodigy, to which the boy looks neither. Unlike her ballet teacher, the boy looked more like a yellow Labrador —an animal that she _did _have a soft spot for— than somebody who belonged here. Then again, she probably shouldn't be one to talk, having been demoted to beginner, to novice; nevertheless, she did not argue, knowing that would only lead to a worse situation, if that was even possible.

"Miss Crimbleton, seriously, I'm not going to the National Academy of Dance." _Please, please seriously let this be a joke —_but it wasn't a joke; a boy strode into the teacher, not so eagerly following the dance academy's year one; someone that she had most definitely seen before.

.

_past; two weeks prior—_

It was the first day of tryouts; Massie Block looked out eagerly from the limousine, smiling at the Block's newest driver and slamming the door shut as she lifted her mandatory two suitcases and flexed her leg in excitement. "Yes, Ma, I'm already here," she says, hurriedly, "and then I'm going to meet up with some friends; we'll all be going out—all _four_ of us." She stressed the 'four' so her mother didn't get any ideas about her and somebody else besides James . . . alone . . . on a date. . .

"Well – that sounds rather exciting for a first day. Make sure to wear sunscreen."

And, Massie quickly clicked off her cell phone, just a little frustrated by how overprotective her parents insisted on being. When she had moved to England all the way back in the eighth grade, they had made sure for rooming arrangements with only the finest of English progeny, but that was her strange enough parents for her; they had associations with people like Bill Gates and Warren Buffet, and then their best friends were Judi and Jay Lyons; who actually didn't turn out to be _that _bad of a family's best friends.

She walked through the hallways, avoiding giggly girls who were making their reunions —probably more experienced girls, maybe second or third years; Massie felt out of place, for once, not knowing anybody else here. There was a vending machine at the end of the hallway, and she saw another girl who was wearing a tryout uniform, with the number 41 spray painted in bright pink, a vandalism, probably not the friend that Massie was looking for. Nevertheless, she saw some resemblance in the girl to one of her older best friends, Claire Lyons; especially from the Hello Kitty earrings.

"Massie!" the girl exclaimed, running over and giving the girl a tight squeeze. "Hey, what are you doing here? Leesh told us how you got into the Academy, but we never suspected that you'd actually show up." Claire sounded sort of disappointed.

Massie coughed, withdrawing from the hug. "_Actually, of course, _I would come back —I kinda miss this place, anyway, and James; you know who James is, right? He's been my boyfriend for the past four years, ever since I moved to England and my castle— to see you guys, too. Where are the rest of you?" Massie glanced around the room, and peeked behind the vending machine as if they would show up there, or as if they were wearing Invisibility Cloaks; then again, Kristen had bought a few of those when the four of them had gone to Orlando in the summer break before eighth grade, but they were totally a waste of money.

Claire sighed. "We were friends —I swear, Mass, pinky promise —we were friends, but things changed after Briarwood became this National Academy of Dance. I know that since I'm the alpha; apparently, I'm the bitchiest one since Lycra-you; I should have kept them together, but things just didn't -work out, _y'know? _I know that you've talked to Dylan since before this; Kristen went to some boarding school down the street, but we haven't heard back from her yet. Apparently, she doesn't want to associate with us anymore, since she's found her _real _friends. What about you?"

"Nothing, much," Massie sighed. "I made a few friends back in England —and they were good. They were really good. Still, nothing could replace the Pretty Committee —_nothing_ ever could—, but since you guys have broken up, we have to get the gang back together!"

She squealed, excited about the whole idea of being the center of attention, and the glue to hold everything back together, again; all the joy that came from being alpha, along with the stress and pressure and the nervous breakdowns that typically involved binging and throwing up in toilets in separate stalls, friends holding up each other's hair as they puked. Nobody could ever know about her secret, however; that would be a disaster. "Anyway, if you want to know where the changing room is..." Claire trailed off.

"Yes, yes!" Massie exclaimed, closing her map into delicate folds and then just getting frustrated by the whole mess and crumpling the map with anger management problems and pent-up frustration, tossing it angrily into the recycling bin in the vicinity. "I would love that, Claire."

"M'kay," Claire replied, taking out her own map —she was a new student as well. "_Well, _you can just go two hallways down, and then take a left, go to the cellar and find the key behind the pillows, the chicken themed ones and try not to get some sort of disease from all of the dust, and watch out for the spiders and their cobwebs, especially the frogs from the community pond a few block back. Then, go back up the stairs and you go to the room on the right, the first one, mind you, never the second one, because that's the _boy's changing room._" And, she said this all with a straight face.

Massie took a deep breath, reminding herself to work on improving her memory; she definitely would need it for directions. Nevertheless, she followed Claire's directions until she had come across the room on the right, and had forgotten which room to go to. Then, she remembered Claire's last words and opened the first door, walking to the middle. There was a horrible odor coming from the showers, and some deodorants were already open —she wasn't sure _which _kind of girls used Axe and different types of cologne but brushed it off, recognizing them as perhaps, international traditions. Massie had already taken off her flowery shirt when the door opened; not thinking twice, she moved to take off her shoes, the ones with the cute polka dot pattern, a parting gift from her friends in England.

"I'm sure, that's a thing," a rough voice was heard from the corner of the dressing room. Massie spun on her bare foot, nearly slipping over the water before her eyes opened wider, and she was frozen in place, out of embarrassment, obviously humiliated and a little disgruntled. "Stripping for attention."

"This is the _girls' _dressing room," she emphasized, nevertheless running behind one of the shower stalls, hiding herself with her hands; then realizing that didn't cover up much, instead covering herself with one of the towels, which reeked of spilled egg yolk, which it probably was in this messed-up, freaky place. Then, she noticed the urinals on the far right hand, and sighed, vowing never to trust somebody who spray painted pink letters onto well, _anything._

Yeah, the first day wasn't really looking too super for her, so far.

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**massie [12:02]**: hey, james! you wanted to talk to me?  
**james [12:14]**: oh - preferrably over the phone, or in person, massie.  
**massie [12:27]**: is this about homecoming, or even my first day? trust, me; it was horrible. i had to be paired up with this jerk and play this horrible game of twenty questions that i never want to play again. his name's chris.  
**claire [12:28]**: mass, i need some boy advice from you. pronto.  
**claire [12:51]**: are you there, mass? it's about derrick. sorry 'bout the wrong directions; i play the prank on every newbie.  
**massie [12:53]**: one sec, claire; i'll talk to you after jazz class. you'll be there, right? i'm actually surprised you still want to talk to me after what happened.  
**james [12:59]**: massie, are you there? massie?

**.**

Meanwhile, Alicia and Cam were in one of the many practice rooms in the Academy; Alicia was stretching, doing rounds of fouettes, instead of focusing on the jazz curriculum in which she currently lacked any sort of talent. She winced at the pull of the ribbon, which restricted her moment and had to stop herself from untying the ribbon in order to whack her partner on the head with seven thousand pounds medicine balls. Instead of practicing, Cam was reading a series of comic books and chatting with his friends via Hangout on his newest technological device; "accidentally", she performed defenestration upon the iPad.

"Are you okay, Alicia?" he asked, not even seeming to be bothered by the fact that his iPad was in shards upon the brick ground.

"Of course I am; why do you ask?" Her voice was bright and chipper—too chipper and her smile was reminiscent of the Joker's. In three steps, he fluidly crossed the room, and stood in front of Alicia. There was a simple headband upon her hair, wrapped into a tight ballet bun, and a permanent scowl replaced the smile on her face; that's more like it.

.

So, there was no other way around this, James soon realized. Nobody knew Massie better than a previous best friend, right? He was sadly mistaken —nevertheless, James made his way to Claire's room, ears throbbing at the pounding music blaring out of the speaker boxes at the end of the hall, nose reeking from the strong smell of scotch and assorted wines that most of these kids had sneaked into their suitcases, past the security check and the one at the Academy, not even worrying about being caught and being caught.

He was officially glad that he hadn't tried out for this.

Then again, he'd never even basically danced in his life —unless that hand whacking and leg jumping or the square dancing techniques that had been taught all the way back in England, and for sure, James knew that he was absolutely _horrible _at anything like that. "Claire?" he knocked on the door, pacing back and forth outside, biting his lip in a nervous manner, and then composing himself.

It wasn't like James to act like this; he was the cool kid, the one that even the upperclassmen looked up to; the door opened, and he sighed in relief. "Hey, Claire. I'm James, Massie's boyfriend? I'm sure that she's mentioned me before."

"James?" Claire raised an eyebrow. "No —she's mentioned a few boyfriends, but never someone named _James_. There was Derrick Harrington, who's currently _my _boyfriend," she sounds possessive, "at least for now." She sighs, sitting back on her bed, and closing the door behind him; James almost felt bad for Claire. "Anyway, she's with that Cam kid right now, and apparently he's going to make his move on her by the end of the year; you better watch out for that, James."

James coughed. "What the hell are you talking about? Of course, she's mentioned me!" _Please, please, seriously let this be a mistake or one of those horrible practical jokes. I've read a few of those American boarding school novels, and things like this happen all the time. _"Don't you remember the conversation that we had on Skype, when you visited Massie for that sweet sixteen party over the summer, when you guys went to Barcelona? I'm the guy that came along; the one that she treated like a chaffeur?" The words just came tumbling out of his mouth, as if he couldn't control them anymore. "How could you not remember me?"

Claire started laughing, until she started choking on her laughter and basically swallowed all the liquid in one of those insulated coffee mugs; James leaned over, and scoffed in disgust. That liquid _definitely _wasn't some sort of hot chocolate drink or even a cold glass of milk. It seemed as though Claire, like all of these other wild children, drank Anjou —and not the firm green variety that was also a pear.

"I was joking, dude; take a joke." Claire playfully punched his arm, leaning into his shoulder; James, on the other hand, slowly pushed her off and started walking out of the room; it probably wasn't that good of an idea to be around an inebriated teenage girl with the whims of an impatient baby. Nevertheless, he needed some answers to his questions, so James decided to stay a little longer. "So, what are you going to do 'bout the Derrick Thing?"

"The Derrick Thing?" James presses his temples, again. "Claire, this isn't a real life episode of _Pretty Little Liars. _This is some real shit going down, and I have to solve it. So, I think that Derrick and Massie," he pauses, then continues once more. "Did they have a ... thing?"

Claire sighs, this time. "God, yes; I was wondering _when on freaking earth _you would ask me about their lengthy, extensive history; they've kissed at least a dozen times. Public PDA seemed to be their thing, and after all, they were the best relationship ever! I mean, how can you get any better than the alpha of the girls and the alpha and the boys, plus they had some major chemistry, and they totally would have lasted if Derrick wasn't so immmature 'bout Massie being immature, and then they would have been that pairing who would get married some day and live happily ever after..." she trailed off, a smile on her face, dreamy looking.

"Isn't he _your _boyfriend, now?" James looked a little frazzled from how everybody seemed to support this Massie and Derrick situation; quite obviously, he wasn't the biggest shipper of it. "So, shouldn't you be thinking about how you should get Massie away from Derrick, too, and then you can help me with my problems?"

"—'lo," she says, a hoarse voice starting to form. "_Obviously _I know he's my boyfriend -for now, and forever and always," she swears. _Please, please, please don't question me, _she thinks. "Anyway," Claire continues. "If you really want help..."

"Yes. Yes. Yes. _YesyesyesYES._"

"God, James. Keep your sugar intake to a minimum; at this rate, you're going to be one of us party freaks. Anyway, if you want help, then we're going to have to go through the entire background of Massie and Derrick, and then her previous boyfriends and the ones after that, and then how we're going to get you too back on the honeymoon stage —first, _on the other hand, _I'm going to take you to a party; now." She pulls on his hand, and leads him out the door.

Before they leave, James pressed his hands to his temples, and poured himself a glass of Anjou —it was _probably _going to be a long night.

.

.

**tbc.**


End file.
